


patchwork

by Jothowrote



Series: Anthill verse [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Everyone is an avatar and they all hang together in a bar and talk about tv, F/F, Families of Choice, M/M, Minor Character Death(s), TMA AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 13:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jothowrote/pseuds/Jothowrote
Summary: It was happy hour at the Anthill, and it was busy. Jon got there late, held back at the institute by an irritated Elias. Elias knew exactly what Jon did with his Friday nights, and he hated it.In fact, one of the main reasons Jon went each week was because of Elias’ distaste for the place. Jon himself wasn’t overly keen of the dusty, faded décor, grimy floor, or limited selection of IPAs, but he didn’t go to the Anthill for the place, as Elias well knew. He went for the people.An AU in which all the various Avatars hang out at a bar.





	patchwork

**Author's Note:**

> University closed for a few days because of all the snow from the Beast from the East, so instead of working on my PhD I sat at home in a billion layers and wrote this. And it just kept going. 
> 
> This is an AU - various canon events happen, but at different times, and sometimes to different people.
> 
> Edit: I thought I should add a few trigger warnings. Specifically: gun violence, knife violence, blood, spiders, worms, drinking to excess. If I've missed anything then please let me know!

It was happy hour at the Anthill, and it was busy. Jon got there late, held back at the institute by an irritated Elias. Elias knew exactly what Jon did with his Friday nights, and he hated it. 

In fact, one of the main reasons Jon went each week was because of Elias’ distaste for the place. Jon himself wasn’t overly keen of the dusty, faded décor, grimy floor, or limited selection of IPAs, but he didn’t go to the Anthill for the place, as Elias well knew. He went for the people.

Martin, as usual, had saved him a seat. Jon carefully brushed a few spiders off the back of it before setting down his coat.

‘I need a drink,’ he said, pulling out his wallet.

‘Hello to you too,’ Tim drawled. Jon rolled his eyes.

‘I was going to get a round,’ he said, trying not to stare at the silver worm slowly sliding out of Tim’s neck, ‘but now I think I’ll just get two for myself.’

Tim smirked at Jon, and without breaking eye contact, flicked the offending worm to the floor.

‘Martin? You want anything?’

‘Nah – I’m good,’ Martin said, from behind two full pints. 

The bar was busier than usual, but Jon got his drinks quicker than he expected. He had only just leant against the vaguely sticky wooden counter when Sasha pushed over two pints of murky, indiscernible beer and two small glasses of whiskey.

‘Best get them now, while they’re cheap,’ she said, winking. ‘You’re late today.’

Jon didn’t bother to ask how she knew what he wanted – he got the same every week.

‘Elias,’ he explained.

‘Figured.’

Jon shivered as a presence stepped up behind him. A long pale arm rested on the bar beside Jon, tapering off to long, pale, inhuman fingers.

‘Hello, Archivist.’

‘Leave him alone, Michael,’ Sasha admonished. Jon took his chance and escaped back to his table, where Tim and Martin were already arguing.

‘Look, it’s in their nature. They can’t help it. If the worms get on the floor, they’re fair game.’

‘It’s disgusting,’ Tim said, grimacing. ‘Spiders are creepy.’ As he spoke, more worms wriggled out from holes in his skin.

‘How have you been, Jon?’ Martin asked brightly, over Tim’s complaints.

‘His spiders keep eating my worms!’

‘Much the same,’ Jon shrugged. ‘Got a new assistant since I was here last. Melanie King.’

‘I know that name,’ Tim said, thoughtfully.

‘You know there’s always a place for you with us, Jon – if you ever get tired of the Eye.’ 

Martin always looked so hopeful, however many times Jon said no. Jon smiled, and reached forward to brush a bit of old cobweb from Martin’s hair.

‘I’m alright where I am for now,’ he said, like he always did.

The evening passed pleasantly enough. Jon, as usual, knew everyone there. Jude Perry sat in the corner with her newest acolytes. When he caught her eye, she nodded at him but didn’t smile. They were smoking in the corner, surrounded by a haze of smoke. The Anthill was somewhat beyond the indoor smoking ban, as it would lead to the banning of several of its regulars. The smell made Jon crave a cigarette.

Mike Crew sat watching the cowled gamblers, a pint of beer and a pint of soda water in front of him as usual. He smiled warmly at Jon when they met eyes.

Despite the occasional ghoulishness of the people and the surroundings, Jon was always surprised at the banality of the conversations he had at the Anthill. Tim grilled Jon about the attractiveness of his new assistant, which made him very uncomfortable. Martin and Tim bickered about the spiders. Martin asked how Jon’s work was going. Sasha joined them, and they all discussed the latest episode of the Great British Bake Off – a programme Jon had only started watching so he could join in with the discussions. Michael joined them too, but by that point Jon had drunk three pints and two whiskeys and dealt with it a little better than before.

Sometime during the night, Tim drifted over to the poker game and Sasha fussed with the jukebox, and Jon, tipsy and relaxed, finally gave in to his craving.

‘I’m just heading out for some fresh air,’ Jon announced to the table at large as he pushed himself up. He was pulling out his secret supply of cigarettes even before he reached the door, and his lighter was in his hand when it swung shut behind him.

The air was fresh and smelt of petrichor, but the dirty alley outside of the Anthill wasn’t the most inspiring view and there was a faint rain still falling, so Jon didn’t fancy hanging around for long. He hurriedly lit his cigarette in his cupped hands and took a deep, long, drag. He tensed, ready for his sore lungs to reject the smoke, but the cravings apparently won over any lasting damage from the Vast.

The longer he spent outside the bar, the more his skin prickled. He dropped the cigarette before it was entirely spent and looked down to crush it under his heel.

In the moment he looked down he heard a small sound behind him, but by the time he processed it there was the bite of cold steel at his neck and a voice in his ear.

‘Don’t move, Sims,’ the voice hissed.

The knife pressed a little harder against his throat as he swallowed.

‘Detective,’ Jon said. ‘You might not want to do this here.’

‘Don’t speak, either,’ Detective Tonner spat. 

‘It’s not safe for you here,’ Jon tried, but the knife just dug a little deeper. He could feel a small trickle of blood work its way down to his collar. He knew the Detective was capable of killing him – he’d heard her statement. He’d compelled it from her, and it had been like drawing blood from a stone. She had killed before – monsters, yes, but humans too, and the nebulous characters in-between. Jon knew that she saw him as inhuman and wouldn’t lose any sleep after dumping his body with all the other monsters she killed.

But she had something of the Hunt about her, and the unspoken truce of the Anthill was upheld viciously.

‘You really shouldn’t be here,’ Jon said, and then the door burst open.

To Jon’s great surprise, Jude Perry was the first out. The Detective, momentarily distracted, didn’t move away in time before Jude wrapped two hands around her arm.

Daisy Tonner gasped in pain, dropped the knife, and pushed herself away from Jon and Jude. Jon staggered forwards but was caught by Martin’s waiting arms. When Jon got his balance back and looked around, the Detective had fled and Jude had a self-satisfied smile on her face.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘I didn’t do it for you,’ Jude said. ‘Rules are rules. And besides,’ she said, her smirk dangerous, ‘it’s been a while since I’ve passed on the kiss of the lightless flame.’

‘Are you alright, Jon?’ Martin asked, sounded panicked. ‘You’re bleeding!’

‘It’s just a nick – I’ll be fine,’ Jon said, one hand up against his neck as he stared down the empty alley. The rain started falling in earnest. ‘How did you know?’

Martin shrugged, looking a little embarrassed.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘the spiders. You had one on your coat,’ he clarified.

‘You’re keeping an eye on me?’

Tim, from behind Martin, let out a large guffaw.

‘Another one?!’

Martin ignored him, cheeks going dusky.

‘It was on your coat,’ he said again. ‘Come on – let’s get back inside before the heavens open.’

**

Jon had a bit of a reputation for getting around. In a community where marks and scars were essentially gang tattoos, Jon was a walking artwork. It was partially – fine, mostly – his own fault. His own insatiable need to question and pry led to quite a few sticky situations. And it didn’t help that compelling others for their stories was both his job and his drug of choice.

Elias called him into his office on Monday morning, and sighed when he saw the plaster.

‘Oh, Jon,’ he said. ‘Let me see.’

Jon sat down and peeled off the plaster. The cut on his neck was only small and looked shallow enough to heal without scarring. It would scar anyway. They always did.

‘You know I don’t like you going there,’ Elias said softly, chiding. Jon bristled at his patronising tone.

‘It would have been worse if I’d been alone,’ he snapped. ‘It’s thanks to the others that it was as insignificant as this.’

Surprisingly insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. The others had fussed like he’d been mortally stabbed. Martin had wanted to take him to A&E, but Jon talked him down to using Sasha’s first aid kit instead. Martin had then insisted on bandaging Jon’s neck. Jon had replaced all the gauze and bandages with a single plaster when he’d got back to his flat.

‘Not all of them have been… insignificant,’ Elias said, raising an eyebrow.

Jon reflexively twitched his right hand. The mottled burns from his talk with Jude were still clearly visible on his skin. Not all of his scars were so obviously on show – the small stab wound from Michael stayed hidden under his clothes, and the scarring from Jane Prentiss’ worms still affected his leg in the cold weather – though they were from the time before he had been the Archivist. Some were even internal. He sometimes struggled for breath, as though he were still falling and gasping for air – a remnant from his evening at Mike’s. Once, a girl on the tube had offered him her inhaler.

‘It’s necessary,’ Jon said, and he believed it. He compelled their stories from them – from the avatars like him, those who were more and less than human. In return, they took their pound of flesh.

‘You do let them walk all over you.’ 

‘We have an understanding,’ Jon said stiffly, still gripping his burnt hand. ‘We have a system. It works. I only take what I need, and I give them something in return.’

‘They could easily kill you. That bar is full of those who would wish harm on the Eye.’

‘They haven’t killed me yet,’ Jon said. ‘And besides – the bar is neutral ground. It’s as safe as somewhere like that could be.’

‘Clearly not all that safe,’ Elias said, shooting a look at Jon’s neck. Jon knew that Elias hated the Anthill partly because he couldn’t See Jon when Jon was there. Maybe it was due to the congregation of powers, or maybe just due to the Distortion, but regardless of the cause, the Eye could not see inside that small, grotty bar. 

Jon could tell that it really got on Elias’ nerves to not be completely in control. It was another reason why he liked to go.

‘Again, this could have been worse. If Detective Tonner had been waiting for me at my flat rather than outside the Anthill – well, you’d be looking for a new Archivist.’

‘Hmm.’ Elias just frowned. ‘Just – take more care in future, Jon.’

Jon wanted to point out that if anything, the bar was less dangerous than his day job – but he bit his tongue and left without another word. He didn’t want to give Elias the satisfaction of sparking his temper.

Melanie had clearly been waiting for him to come out of Elias’ office, since she accosted him in the hall almost immediately.

‘What did he want?’ she asked – then, ‘and what happened to your neck?’

‘There was a small… altercation… at the pub on Friday night,’ Jon said. ‘Elias was just checking up on me.’

‘Wait – you got into a bar fight? You?’

‘Not on purpose,’ Jon grumped, annoyed by Melanie’s complete disbelief. 

‘Well, _obviously_. Are you… ok?’

‘It’s only a small scratch,’ Jon sighed. ‘I don’t know why everyone’s making such a big deal about it.’

‘Maybe because it’s right over some pretty important veins? I don’t know, Jon, it looks like it could have been nasty.’

‘Well, it wasn’t,’ he said, barely holding back from snapping at Melanie. ‘My… friends… got to me in time.’

‘You were at a bar – and involved in a bar fight – with friends?’

Jon bristled a little at her tone of astonishment and stomped off towards his office, trying to end the conversation. Melanie followed him anyway.

‘Is it really that hard to believe that I have friends? Outside of work?’

‘Well, you never talk about them,’ Melanie pointed out, ‘and Georgie always said you were… private.’

Jon momentarily tried to imagine describing Michael to Melanie. Then he tried desperately not to.

‘Maybe they’re private too,’ he said, perhaps a little harshly, before slamming into his office. 

**

It had been Gertrude who had first taken him to the Anthill. Elias would no doubt have hidden it from him as long as possible, intent on him learning ‘the slow way’. As it was, Gertrude had been the one to notice that Jon, a researcher for the institute at the time, had been marked. She quickly took him under her wing as a replacement for one of her poor lost assistants, after the Prentiss incident and Jon outlived all the rest.

Gertrude had been a cold and distant mentor, but she had taught him well. She had even given him his first Leitner to burn. 

When Gertrude went missing, Elias promoted him.

The other denizens of the Anthill had viewed Jon as little more than Gertrude’s rather imbecilic pet in the beginning, as Jon had little to no experience of whatever nonhuman monstrosities existed in that nebulous place between person and power. As he began to take control of his powers, they viewed him as an irritant, a small, biting gadfly, relatively harmless but… persistent.

When Gertrude went missing, and he let loose the full force of his Archivist powers, they actively disliked him and didn’t hide it. Gertrude had always co-existed with them peacefully, but Jon was desperate to get their statements, regardless of whether he had to drag them out and get hurt for his troubles. He had the scars to prove it.

After a while, though, they… tolerated him. There was a strange catharsis to be found in giving the Archivist your statement, and quite by accident, Jon became the unofficial therapist to half a dozen avatars of supranatural entities.

He knew everyone’s stories, now. Even the ones that hated the Eye, and saw Jon as little more than its slave, eventually allowed him to compel their stories. Jon knew that Tim had once had a promising career in a successful publishing house, but a one-night stand had dragged him into Filth. He’d survived to be an avatar only by giving himself utterly to the power – ‘what choice did I have?’ Tim had said, bitterly, as worms fell from his sleeves. Jon knew that Martin had been Gertrude’s assistant, before Jon’s time, and had been taken by the Web. From Gertrude’s stories about her former assistant, Jon believed that Martin was happier now than he’d been under the Eye.

‘I’ve always liked spiders,’ Martin had said, smiling, old cobweb permanently appearing in his messy hair. ‘And the Web holds people – keeps them. You were almost taken, weren’t you?’ He cocked his head, eyes bright. 

Tim, while bitter and caustic, had been a dream compared to his vicious creator, Jane Prentiss, who had attacked the Institute when Jon had worked merely as a researcher upstairs. Jon had not left that encounter unscathed. Neither had he done so from talking to Jude Perry, as the mottled burn on his right hand attested to. Mike Crew had made him a cup of tea and left him with only internal injuries and dizzying vertigo.

Elias hated it – believed that those of the Eye were above the mere avatars of fifth and dark fire. Knowledge was the true power, and he hoarded it jealously. Jon had never really seen eye to eye – pun unintended – with Elias, not while he was working under Gertrude and not now he was left at the helm alone.

So, in a moment of defiance, he invited Melanie to the Anthill. She was already marked, after all – already had her feet in the shark-infested waters – and Jon hoped that by showing her to the others he might help her survive a little longer.

Melanie seemed keen, even though she had been unflatteringly surprised to find out he had friends outside of work.

‘Georgie always said you were a bit of an introvert,’ she shrugged. ‘And that you barely even see her anymore. I just assumed that you weren’t really the type to go for after-work drinks with friends. But you’re a regular – and you get into fights?’

‘I guess you could call them work friends,’ Jon said, thoughtfully, choosing to rise above Melanie’s comments. ‘Gertrude introduced me, after all.’

‘The famous Gertrude?’ Melanie’s eyebrows were practically in her hairline. ‘She who must not be mentioned in this institute?’

‘The very same,’ Jon said, dryly.

‘Wait,’ Melanie said, eyes wide. ‘Elias doesn’t go too – does he?’

‘No – in fact, he hates it there.’

‘Oh, good,’ Melanie sighed. Then she quickly looked over her shoulder, as though expecting to find Elias standing right behind her. ‘Not that I don’t like him,’ she said, ‘it’s just… it would be weird, drinking with my boss.’

‘You’ll be drinking with me,’ Jon pointed out.

‘Yeah, but you’re more of a sub-boss. And besides, you went drinking with your boss, right? With Gertrude?’

‘So you’re coming?’

‘Like I’d pass up a chance to meet your weird friends.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Jon said, trying to hold back a laugh.

When Melanie walked into the Anthill that Friday evening, her eyes went as round as dinnerplates and Jon chuckled out loud.

‘I did warn you,’ he said.

‘Jon!’ Martin called, waving from their usual table. He hastily brushed some spiders off the spare chairs as Jon approached, Melanie trailing behind him. ‘We saved you an extra seat! And you must be Melanie?’

Melanie shook Martin’s hand, eyes still wide, mouth hanging slightly open.

‘You’re the new assistant?’ Tim drawled, draped over his chair.

‘Hmm? I guess?’

‘It’s good to meet you,’ Martin said, brightly. ‘It’s always nice when someone new enters the fold.’

‘Yes,’ Melanie said faintly. Her eyes were following the movement of a worm that had emerged from Tim’s ear and was now sliding slowly down his neck.

‘Sorry,’ Tim said, lazily flicking it away. ’I let myself go a bit in here. No need to hide it.’

‘Of course,’ Melanie squeaked. ‘It’s no problem.’

There was a scuffle and a squeal from the floor, and Martin immediately flinched and then guiltily tried to hide it.

‘What did I say about eating my worms, Blackwood?’ Tim sighed, tiredly.

‘Sorry,’ Martin said, wringing his hands. 

‘If they’re on the floor, then they’re fair game,’ Jon said. ‘Wasn’t that your deal? Anyway, I’m getting a drink – want anything Melanie?’

‘I’ll come with,’ Martin said hurriedly, avoiding Tim’s evil eye.

‘I’ll have… a beer?’ Melanie said, still transfixed. 

‘I’ll get you two,’ Jon said, kindly.

The bar was quieter than usual, and Sasha came over to chat as she poured their drinks.

‘Your new friend’s cute,’ Sasha said. 

‘Nope, not getting involved,’ Jon said, quickly. ‘I’m her boss, and I have no idea what her preferences are, or if she has any.’

‘But I can ask?’

‘Knock yourself out,’ Jon shrugged. ‘Just don’t involve me.’

‘Noted.’

Something tickled Jon’s neck, making him twitch. One of the spiders had taken refuge on Jon’s coat, and Martin carefully lifted it away.

‘Thanks for standing up for me, back there,’ Martin said quietly. ‘I know you and Filth aren’t exactly on the best of terms…’

‘It was the truth,’ Jon said. 

‘Still – thanks.’

There was cobweb in Martin’s hair again. Jon’s fingers twitched with the urge to remove it and wondered what it said about him that once he’d seen it, he couldn’t just leave it there. 

‘It was a good idea to bring Melanie here,’ Martin said, looking back at their table. Melanie seemed to have gotten over the shock of the worms and had already succumbed to Tim’s natural charisma.

‘I’m still not entirely sure,’ Jon said, quietly. He didn’t want to admit that he mainly did it as a kind of fuck you to Elias.

‘No – it’s good to expose her early. Get everyone used to her. And they can’t do anything here – not anything she doesn’t consent to, anyway.’

‘Did Gertrude ever bring you here?’ Jon asked, idly.

‘No,’ Martin said, looking down at his hands. ‘I don’t think I was ever very good at working for the Beholding. She knew that.’

Jon wasn’t quite sure what to say. He went for the awkward shoulder pat and ended up just leaving his hand there.

‘I would have been lucky to have you as an assistant,’ he said, stiltedly. Martin laughed, loudly and brightly, as he turned to Jon.

‘You would have hated me,’ he said. ‘I’m glad we’re friends.’

‘Me too,’ Jon said, and to his surprise, he found he meant it.

**

Elias shot Jon a very disapproving look on Monday morning, but Melanie was bright and happy. Jon had known that the experience could have gone one of two ways; sent her screaming from the institute, only to sicken away from the Eye; or spark up that flame of curiosity and desire to know that most of those under the Beholding possessed. To his relief, Melanie seemed to have gone the way of the latter, just as he had when Gertrude had first taken him.

‘It’s nice to feel involved,’ Melanie said, later, handing Jon some files. ‘You know – we’re all in this together, now. I felt like – like I was back in secondary school, and I was being left out of the cool gang, you know?’

Jon snorted. Never in his life had he been described as part of the ‘cool gang’.

‘Ok, fair – the goth gang, maybe. But I’m in this as deep as anyone. I don’t understand why you were leaving me out in the cold.’

Jon knew, although he didn’t want to say – he’d felt that bringing Melanie in deeper would somehow endanger her. That keeping her in the dark, on the outskirts, would somehow help her live a normal life. But Martin was right – she was in it, now, however distant Jon tried to keep her. She had been claimed by the Beholding. And his keeping her at arm’s length would only hurt in the long run.

‘You seemed to hit it off with everyone,’ Jon said, not a little jealously. It had taken him months to gain even Tim and Martin’s trust – Melanie had practically been a celebrity. Some of them were still subscribed to her Youtube channel, for Christ’s sake.

‘They were surprisingly nice,’ she said. ‘I guess you don’t get many new people there.’

‘What gave it away?’ Jon said. ‘You’ve been the main topic of gossip since you started here.’

‘So, um – you’re quite close with Sasha, right?’ Melanie asked, fiddling awkwardly with a pen she’d plucked from Jon’s desk. Jon heaved a great, put-upon sigh.

‘No – I’m not getting involved in this. She tried to do this too.’

‘She asked about me?’ Melanie asked, her face lighting up. ‘Does she – what did she say?’

Jon groaned, long and heartfelt, and shook his head.

‘Nope. Just _talk_ to each other, _please_ , for the sake of my sanity.’

‘Alright, but you’re one to talk,’ Melanie grumped. ‘I swear half the people in that bar were making eyes at you.’

‘Wh – _what_?’ Jon spluttered. ‘No – no, they don’t even _like_ me. They just like the feeling of giving statements – the compulsion can feel quite nice, apparently.’

‘Yeah, that’s what they were after. _Compulsion_ ,’ Melanie said. She didn’t physically make air quotes, but put so much emphasis on the word that Jon could have sworn he saw them anyway.

‘Don’t you have work to do?’ he asked, irritably.

Melanie just arched an eyebrow and left Jon’s office, but Jon was still left with the feeling that he’d lost that particular battle.

**

Mike Crew was the first to go missing. Sasha pointed out his empty table a few months after Melanie had become a new regular at the Anthill.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mike recently?’ she asked Jon. Jon had been in the process of digging out his battered wallet from his equally battered coat and had managed to get his hand stuck. He turned awkwardly to see Mike’s usual table empty.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen him in a few weeks, come to think of it.’

Sasha frowned as she pulled his pints.

‘I’ll go check on him this weekend,’ Jon said. 

‘Thanks, Jon. You know, he always had a soft spot for you.’

‘My lungs would beg to differ,’ he said, though there was something of a grain of truth in what Sasha said. People who bothered Mike like Jon had usually ended up as bloody streaks on the pavement. Jon seemed to be an exception.

‘What was that about?’ Tim asked, damningly perceptive, when Jon sat back down with the round. ‘Sasha looked upset.’

‘Is she ok?’ Melanie asked immediately.

‘She’s fine,’ Jon sighed. ‘It’s just that Mike’s been MIA for a few weeks and she’s getting worried.’

‘Maybe he’s got something better to do than sit in this grim place with you lot,’ Tim said, shrugging. ‘I know I would if I had another option.’

Tim sounded bitter, but as Jon had learnt, there was no bite to his bark. Martin pouted anyway.

‘No, Mike didn’t exactly have a sparkling social calendar,’ Jon mused. He’d been to Mike Crew’s house. It had been tidy, and clean, but almost clinical in its sparseness. Mike lived alone and had very few material connections. He’d seemed happy enough to have Jon’s company, once he’d punished him for compelling a statement from him, anyway. And Jon had visited him a few times after that – Mike had been one of those who didn’t hide their enjoyment of the catharsis that came with talking to the Archivist.

‘Did you know him well, Jon?’ Melanie asked. ‘He never seemed to talk to many people here. I don’t think I ever said more than ‘excuse me’ to him. He always smiled at you, though.’

‘I knew him as well as I know anyone here,’ Jon shrugged. ‘I took his statement. Went to his for tea a few times. I said to Sasha I’d go check on him over the weekend.’

‘Do you want company?’ Martin asked, looking pale and worried. ‘After what happened…’

‘Yeah – you never did explain about that ‘bar fight’,’ Melanie said. She gestured to the Anthill at large, which was quiet, dark, and peaceful, as it usually was. ‘How did that happen here, of all places?’

Jon took a long drink.

‘There’s a Detective from the local police who _knows_ about us,’ Martin said, quickly, before Jon had steeled himself to reply. ‘She’s got it in for anything non-human, but seems to really hate Jon in particular.’

‘You do have a gift for that,’ Tim observed, smirking around his glass.

‘The police are after you?’

‘Not the police, no,’ Jon sighed. ‘Daisy – Detective Tonner – is a bit of a wild card. She acts alone, and her superiors look the other way as long as she protects everyone from – well, from us.’

‘And she attacked you _here_?’ Melanie looked impressed. ‘She must be either very brave or very stupid.’

‘Well…’ 

‘She got to him outside, in the alley,’ Martin said, shooting Jon a disapproving look.

‘When I went out for a cigarette,’ Jon admitted.

‘Luckily that counts as breaking the truce,’ Tim added. ‘And Jude was looking to burn off some steam.’ He laughed unpleasantly.

‘Do you think this Detective might have got to Mike?’ Melanie asked.

Jon shared a worried look with Martin.

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘It’s not outside her MO.’

‘I’m coming with you to his house,’ Martin said, decisively. ‘Just in case.’

‘Me too,’ Melanie said, her eyes alive with excitement. 

There was a pause as they all looked at Tim.

Tim groaned.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But if I die, I hope the worms avenge me and get you all in your sleep.’

Melanie laughed Tim’s threat off, but the scars on Jon’s legs ached and he didn’t quite manage to crack a smile.

Later that night, after Tim had drifted off to the poker game as usual and Martin had gone to the bar to get in another round, Melanie squeaked her chair closer to Jon and leaned close. Her breath stank of beer and her eyes were slightly glazed.

‘That boy has the biggest crush,’ she said, hiccupping slightly. Jon frowned.

‘Martin?’ he said. ‘On who? Tim? He can do better. I don’t think Tim does commitment. Not since… you know… the worms.’

‘No, idiot,’ Melanie said fondly, slapping her hand against his shoulder. ‘ _You_.’

‘Me?’

Melanie nodded, her face mock-serious. Then she hiccupped again and dissolved into giggles.

‘You really are blind, Jon,’ she said.

‘Hardly a boy,’ Jon said, mind hazy. ‘He’s only a year or so younger than me.’

‘You,’ Melanie said, pointing directly at his face, making his eyes cross when he tried to focus on her finger. ‘You were born middle-aged.’

‘Ha ha,’ Jon said tonelessly, as he finished off his drink. ‘And it’s not him. Martin, I mean. It’s the spiders.’

‘The web?’

‘Mmm. The first power to mark me, back when I was a kid. I’m ‘the one that got away’.’

‘Maybe that’s part of it,’ Melanie said, shrugging, ‘I don’t know. But you should see the moony eyes, Jon, it’s _painful_.’

‘You’re one to talk,’ Jon said, grumpily. Melanie just hit him again.

‘What’s that?’ Martin asked, setting the drinks down a little clumsily.

‘Melanie’s going to go and talk to Sasha,’ Jon said. Melanie shot him a look of betrayal. Martin lit up.

‘Oh! Are you finally going to ask her on a date?’

‘What do you mean, _finally_?’

Martin looked a little sheepish underneath Melanie’s intensely panicked glare.

‘Nothing,’ he squeaked. ‘I just-‘

‘Fine,’ Melanie said, pushing back her chair and standing up forcefully. She brandished a finger at Jon. ‘Don’t think this lets you off the hook,’ she warned, before striding over to the bar, and Sasha. She only weaved a little from the alcohol.

‘I should go and tell Tim,’ Martin said happily. ‘He bet on it happening towards the end of this month. It’s the 20th – that counts, right?’

‘I should think so,’ Jon said. He watched Martin go, eyes caught on the cobweb over his left ear, and wondered whether Melanie had been confused about exactly who had the crush.

**

They all met at the nearest tube station to Mike’s house on the Saturday afternoon, and walked the rest of the way. It was a cold, clear day, with the frost only just beginning to melt past noon, and they mostly walked in silence with their breath puffing out in great clouds in front of them.

Jon was always amazed at how normal and human they all looked, in the bright sunlight of half two on a Saturday afternoon. 

‘It’s only about another ten minutes from here,’ Jon said after Melanie groaned for the second time. She wore sunglasses and kept swigging from her bottle like it was water from the fountain of youth. She still made them wait outside the first newsagents they passed so she could go in and buy a chocolate bar and an energy drink.

Tim laughed at Martin, watching as he stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together, puffing like a steam train.

‘It’s all right for you,’ Martin grumped. ‘Some of us still feel the cold.’ 

Tim just shrugged.

‘Should have chosen more wisely,’ he said.

Jon, privately, thought that a little discomfort from the weather was well worth not being inhabited by worms.

Melanie emerged from the shop, sunglasses perched on her head, necking a red bull like her life depended on it.

‘You weren’t _that_ drunk last night,’ Tim said, rolling his eyes.

‘Not at the Anthill, I wasn’t,’ she said, throwing the empty can into a nearby bin and unwrapping her twix. ‘I kept drinking… afterwards.’

‘Afterwards?’ Martin’s face lit up. ‘Wait – you left at the same time as Sasha!’

‘You went back to hers?’ Tim looked impressed. ‘Good effort, rookie.’

‘Nothing _happened_ ,’ Melanie stressed, biting into her twix. ‘Just more drinking,’ she mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate biscuit and caramel. Jon wanted to sink into the floor.

‘Can we not talk about this?’ he asked. ‘Your boss, remember.’

‘Sub-boss,’ Melanie reminded. ‘Come on – let’s go.’

The mood soured considerably as they approached Mike’s house. Every time Jon went to Mike’s he was always struck by how normal it looked – just a regular terraced house on a quiet suburban road. 

‘There aren’t any lights on,’ Martin said, biting his lip. 

When Jon knocked on the door, it swung open without resistance and left the four of them staring into a dark corridor.

‘Shit,’ Tim said. ‘ _Fuck_.’

Jon poked his head in – no sign of a struggle in the corridor, and the door wasn’t broken. He edged carefully inside.

‘Does he usually leave his front door open?’ Melanie whispered. Jon just shook his head and motioned towards the living room door.

If there had been any doubt before, the disarray of the living room put it to rest. The chairs lay on their backs, knocked clean over. A mug lay around a foot away from its handle, a dark patch of spilt tea beneath it.

‘It has to have been Daisy,’ Jon said, picking up the mug and placing it carefully on the coffee table. ‘I can’t think of anyone else who would attack one of us with force.’

‘Oh god,’ Martin choked from the corner, ‘I think – is that… blood?’

‘Looks like,’ Tim said. ‘Honestly, Martin, you’re the avatar of an antediluvian entity with a predilection for spiders – don’t tell me you’re freaked out by a little _blood_.’

‘It’s all… dark and crusty,’ Martin said, going an alarming shade of green.

‘Alright, Martin, just – sit down,’ Jon said, grabbing Martin’s arm and leading him firmly to the sofa, which was thankfully still standing upright. ‘Head between your knees – Melanie, would you mind lending Martin some water?’

Melanie passed her bottle to Jon from where she was crouched next to the grisly bloodstain.

‘Whatever happened, I don’t think Mike survived this,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘That’s a lot of blood.’

‘But – he’s of the Vast,’ Tim said. ‘Doesn’t that count for something?’

‘I don’t think it stops bullets,’ Melanie pointed out. ‘Or knives. Being the Archivist doesn’t seem to make Jon any less of a squishy punching bag. Sorry, Jon.’

‘That’s – surprisingly accurate,’ Jon sighed. ‘Are you alright, Martin?’ he asked, rubbing Martin’s back in what he hoped was a comforting fashion.

‘Yeah, thanks.’ Martin took a couple of steadying gulps from Melanie’s bottle. ‘Sorry, I just – it’s just so _much_ …’

‘Yeah, let’s not talk about that,’ Melanie said, quickly. She stood up, hands on her hips. ‘So the crazy detective got to Mike at his house – she probably knows where some of the rest of us live, too. And she definitely knows where we work.’

‘The archives,’ Jon said, suddenly.

‘Yes, Jon. That’s where we work,’ Melanie said, slowly. She waved a hand in front of his face. ‘Earth to Jon – are you ok?’

Jon batted her hand away impatiently.

‘No, I meant – the archives – Daisy gave multiple statements before she fully realised how we were digging the information out of her. I took one, which helps me a little, but Elias – Elias took one from her right before she went completely off-grid. I know she has a place where she buries all the… the non-human bodies. If it’s in that statement…’

‘Then we can try and get her before she gets the rest of us!’ Tim said, triumphantly.

The three of them just stared at Tim.

‘What?’ he asked, confused. ‘Was that not going to be your plan?’

‘Murder? Not really?’ Jon said.

‘Well, that’s generally our MO,’ Tim said, shrugging. ‘I know the Beholding likes to act all distant and high-and-mighty, but us regular joes at the Anthill prey on humans as a day job.’

‘God, I forgot how creepy you all were,’ Melanie said, rolling her eyes.

‘We’re not exactly a team of crack assassins,’ Martin pointed out. ‘I’m, well, more about the long game rather than direct confrontations and guns. Mike was pretty dangerous, and she managed to get him. Maybe we should get some help.’

‘If we find out where she stashes the bodies, and tell the others, then maybe they’ll help.’ Jon ran a hand through his hair – a sure sign of stress. He felt tired and heavy, as though he hadn’t slept for days. Mike’s cold, dark living room was throwing him off, making him feel like they’d already lost. Like they were too late.

‘The archives, then,’ Martin said decisively, standing up and very obviously not looking over at the congealed bloodstain.

‘Oh, great,’ Melanie said. ‘Work, on a Saturday.’

**

Elias was, of course, in his office. Jon hadn’t expected anything else.

‘That’s quite an entourage you’ve got outside, Jon,’ he said, smiling coldly. ‘Are we in such desperate straits as this?’

Jon was suddenly glad he’d convinced Martin to wait outside the Institute with Tim. Tim, of course, had refused to set foot inside the building, claiming that the feeling of the Eye on him made him ‘ill’ and that he didn’t particularly fancy visiting the place where his creator had died a rather grisly death.

Martin had been harder to convince.

‘Is Rosie still there?’ he had asked. ‘And Sonya, in artefact storage?’

‘Yeah,’ Melanie said. ‘Hey, which one was your desk? Was it the one by the door?’

‘It’ll be quicker if I just go in alone,’ Jon said quickly. ‘I just need to ask Elias for the tape. You three just – stay here. I’ll be right back.’

And he’d hurried in, ignoring Martin’s disappointed pout.

‘I need Detective Tonner’s statement,’ Jon said to Elias, bluntly. ‘The one you took. I think that it has information that we – that I – need.’

‘I would have thought you know better than to mess with someone as dangerous as Detective Tonner,’ Elias said, one eyebrow arched.

‘We think she’s killed one of the servants of the Vast. It’s likely she’ll go after the rest of us. We want to try and stop her before anyone else gets hurt.’

‘Jon,’ Elias chided, ‘that’s not your job. You aren’t some kind of militia. The Eye watches, and it knows. We don’t get involved.’

‘Daisy could just as easily come after us as she could one of the others!’ Jon said, his voice heating into a shout. ‘This isn’t a time for us to just sit back, and – and watch!’

‘Regardless,’ Elias said, delicately, ‘I’m afraid that I cannot give you that recording, Jon. It contains information that you should not know – at least, not yet.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘What I said.’ Elias’ voice was clipped now, short, tired of Jon. He shuffled various papers on his desk in a dismissive fashion. ‘Is that all?’

Jon clenched his fists in impotent rage, but he knew that he would get nothing from Elias that Elias would not willingly give. Elias was much stronger that he was – he Knew that, like he Knew he was the Archivist.

He didn’t enjoy telling the others that his boss had stymied their plans.

‘Why wouldn’t he help?’ Melanie asked. Tim snorted.

‘He’s so deep in the Beholding he barely remembers being human,’ he said. ‘Elias Bouchard wouldn’t help anyone except his precious Archivist.’

‘Not even then,’ Jon sighed. ‘Gertrude never liked him, and I don’t think he liked her very much either.’

‘Well, what now?’ Martin asked.

Melanie put her sunglasses back on and shrugged. Tim just looked bored.

‘I may have another lead,’ Jon said, slowly. ‘I can’t go back in now – it would look too suspicious – but if I can go through some old statements tomorrow…’

‘You say that like Bouchard isn’t watching us right now,’ Tim pointed out. Melanie flinched.

‘Wait – he can do that?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Jon admitted. ‘But good point – and I know where he can’t watch us.’

And so the four of them found themselves in the Anthill at half four on a Saturday afternoon. Martin pulled the short straw and went to tell Sasha about their findings at Mike’s house, while the others gathered around their usual table.

‘I took a statement from Daisy’s old partner not long ago,’ Jon told the others. ‘She’s left the force now – the supernatural part was a bit too much for her, I think – but we parted on relatively good terms, and I think her contact details are still in the archives.’

‘On good terms?’ Tim said, smirking. ‘Jon, you sly dog.’

‘No – it wasn’t like that,’ Jon said, hurriedly, even as Tim shot him a truly disturbing wink. ‘Not that she wasn’t nice, she just – wasn’t my type.’

‘And what _is_ your type?’ Melanie asked, leaning forward.

Jon stammered for a few seconds before being rescued by the arrival of Martin and Sasha.

‘So, Mike’s dead,’ Sasha said. Melanie hurriedly pulled up another chair, which she sank into, looking tired.

‘Looks like it,’ Tim said. ‘Sorry?’ he attempted, although it sounded completely disingenuous. Melanie glared at him as she put her arms around Sasha comfortingly. Sasha leant into the contact, looking drained.

‘I had a feeling… but I hoped I was just overreacting,’ she said. ‘Do you… Martin said you think it was Detective Tonner?’

‘We’re trying to find out,’ Jon said. ‘Elias has delayed us a little, but we’re working on it.’

‘Do you think she’s coming after everyone?’

There was silence as they all glanced around at one another. Even Tim looked serious.

‘It’s a possibility,’ Jon said, eventually, voicing the fear none of the rest could speak out loud.

‘Well,’ Sasha said, slapping her hands on the table. ‘I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink.’

‘Yes,’ said Tim immediately. 

Jon, personally, didn’t see how getting drunk would help the situation, but when Sasha cracked out the expensive vodka and passed around shot glasses, he couldn’t think of a good enough excuse not to join in.

By eight they were all absolutely steaming, and Tim had ordered pizza from the Dominos down the road. Sasha had only just managed to rescue the poor delivery boy from Tim’s clutches, flicking the worms off his back as he fled. 

‘No freaky shit here,’ she said sternly. ‘The police already know we’re here – the Section 31s do, anyway. Do you want this place to close?’

Tim didn’t sulk for long once he got started on the pizza.

They were all so drunk so early that Sasha closed the Anthill before ten o’clock and they reconvened at the nearest flat, which turned out to be Jon’s. The others could have gone home, but Jon was feeling unsettled and nervous, his eyes turning every moving shadow in his peripherals into Daisy, and he didn’t think he was the only one. It felt safer to travel in a pack, even when they were all drunk as skunks and falling all over each other. Mike’s empty house stuck in Jon’s mind, and having his own living room busy with people – his _friends_ – he felt much more relaxed.

Jon woke up the next morning with a truly apocalyptic headache, gagging at the taste in his mouth. He’d fallen asleep in his armchair, which his neck was now painfully protesting. Blearily he looked around his living room – Tim was splayed out on the sofa, and Martin had apparently built himself a nest of blankets on the floor. When Jon stepped over Martin’s curled-up body and peered into his bedroom, he saw Melanie and Sasha lying on top of his covers, (mostly) dressed, and snoring fit to wake the dead.

Jon made the executive decision to make coffee, and he used the largest cafetiere he owned.

The sound of the kettle seemed to summon Martin and he wandered into the kitchen, still wearing most of his blanket nest and looking dishevelled.

‘Tea?’ he asked blearily, rubbing his eyes. Jon shook his head.

‘I was going to make coffee, but I’m sure I’ve got some teabags somewhere,’ he said, rummaging in his embarrassingly empty cupboards. He didn’t spend much time at home – it held very little interest to him when the statements were so important. He was sure that he used to be a real person, with hobbies and interests outside work, and while he had never had the largest social circle, he had used to have a few friends outside work too (Martin, Tim, Sasha, and the rest of the Anthill crowd didn’t exactly count as ‘outside work’). As the Beholding had tightened its hold on him his life had narrowed quite significantly.

‘Nah, that’s fine.’ Martin yawned widely and winced. ‘Coffee’s fine – you wouldn’t happen to have any paracetamol?’

‘That I do have,’ Jon said, handing over the packet he had already cracked into for his own blistering hangover headache, along with a glass of water. Martin looked so desperately grateful that it made Jon’s head hurt, although that may have been the hangover too.

They stood in comfortable silence as they listened to the kettle boil over and click off, and Jon watched Martin in a vague, distant way. For once, his messy hair was free of cobwebs, and there wasn’t a spider in sight. Martin looked like a normal human, just relaxing in Jon’s kitchen like he belonged there.

The smell of coffee, once poured into the cafetiere, seemed to spark life into the others, and Tim burst into the kitchen, worms flying, once Jon had pressed down the plunger. Melanie and Sasha trailed in afterwards, and then Jon’s kitchen was alive with sound and life.

Despite the headache, Jon found that he kind of liked it.

**

Jon phoned Basira on the Monday morning, as Sunday had been a bit of a write-off. She had been understandably wary at hearing from him but seemed happy enough to meet at a local coffee shop when he suggested it, rather than at the archives.

‘How’s life outside the force?’ Jon asked, awkwardly, once they’d got their drinks and found a table. Basira rolled her eyes.

‘It’s alright, Jon – you can cut the small talk. What do you want?’ She stirred her hot chocolate without breaking eye contact. ‘Was there something missing from my statement? I told you everything I could remember, and nothing’s happened since I left the police.’

‘Alright,’ Jon said, shrugging. ‘It’s not about your statement – I was wondering if you’d been in contact with Daisy recently?’

‘Daisy? Why do you want to know about Daisy?’

Jon didn’t need to be a psychologist to notice Basira’s panicked eyes, and the way her spoon hit the side of her cup with just a little too much force.

‘There was an… incident involving the Detective a month or so back,’ Jon said, pulling back his collar to show the fading mark Daisy’s knife had left on his neck. ‘One of our – colleagues – has gone missing, and there were signs of a struggle. I just need to know – is Daisy hunting my kind? Is she still AWOL from the police? Do her superiors know where she is? Do _you_ know where she is?’

Jon pushed a little in his last few questions, putting a hint of the Archivist in his voice. He felt guilty doing it, but he needed to find Daisy, and Basira was his last resort without actively going against Elias.

‘I… I haven’t seen her,’ Basira stammered. ‘Sorry Jon, but I…’

‘Please, Basira,’ Jon said, lowering his voice, staring at her intently, beseechingly. ‘Mike was my friend, and he’s probably dead. Daisy knows about the Anthill, and she apparently knows where some of us live. They’re my _friends_ , Basira.’

‘Daisy says they’re killers,’ Basira whispered. ‘Jon, they’re not human. Daisy says-‘

‘Daisy says I’m not human,’ Jon said. ‘She’s tried to kill me – and they saved me from her. Help me save them.’

‘Jon…’ Basira looked torn, wringing her hands, her hot chocolate forgotten now. ‘I can’t tell you where she is, Jon. She’s dangerous, and you shouldn’t put yourself in danger.’

‘I’m already in danger,’ Jon said. ‘Look, Basira – Daisy is going off the rails. You know she is – she’s conflating monsters with bystanders. If she’s tried to kill me, what if she goes after my assistants? Not all of them are Prentisses, or Vampires. Melanie, my new assistant – it’s just her job. She doesn’t deserve to be murdered for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

‘What about Sasha?’ Basira asked. ‘Your old assistant, the one that vanished? Did she deserve that?’

‘Sasha?’ Jon said, thrown off. ‘Sasha James? She’s fine – she works at a bar, now. Mic – one of us saved her.’

‘Oh.’ Basira looks momentarily wrong-footed. ‘I thought…’

‘You thought wrong,’ Jon said, firmly. ‘Was it Daisy who told you that?’

‘What? No,’ Basira said, shaking her head. ‘Jon, I – I wish I could, really, but I just – I can’t. I’m sorry.’ She pushed away from the table and hurried away, head down against the cold wind outside. Jon watched her go. Tim, face half-covered with a scarf, gave him a thumbs up through the café’s glass windows before following Basira down the road.

‘Well, now we know where she lives,’ Melanie said later, when they had all reconvened at Jon’s flat. It had become their unofficial headquarters when the Anthill was closed during the day. Jon had picked up a few tricks from his mentor before she’d disappeared and knew how to hide his home from the Beholding. It was important to have a clear work/home divide, especially when you were working against your practically omniscient boss’s wishes.

‘Do you really think that Daisy is staying with her?’ Tim asked. ‘I didn’t see any sign of her.’

‘Maybe not all the time, but she definitely uses it as a safe house,’ Jon said. When talking to Basira in the coffee shop, he’d used the powers he rarely got to unpack from his arsenal – the art of reading between the lines. Basira had been hiding something, and she had seen Daisy recently – Basira knew about Daisy’s quest to rid the world of the nonhuman monsters. Basira wasn’t quite marching at Daisy’s side, but she didn’t disapprove of her ex-partner’s mission either. And they were still close – although Jon didn’t know exactly how someone could be close with the mess of seething violence that was Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner.

Then, given his present company, maybe he did know.

‘So what do we do now?’ Sasha asked. ‘She’s definitely told Daisy that you were asking questions and looking for her by now, so there’s no point in watching her house – even if we had the means to do that. We’ve hit a dead end.’

‘Do you think Basira would know where Daisy buries the bodies?’ Martin asked. Jon shrugged.

‘I could ask – but I don’t want to have to force her,’ he said. ‘I’d rather do this… as humanely as possible.’

‘I’m sorry, Jon,’ Sasha said, ‘but you might have to. People’s lives are in danger. Mike’s already dead!’

‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Martin tried, but Jon cut over him.

‘No; you’re right,’ he said. ‘I should have asked her properly in the café.’

‘It’s ok, Jon,’ Martin said, comfortingly.

‘It might not be,’ Tim pointed out, ignoring Martin’s glare. ‘Look, Basira might have already told Daisy about you asking questions – what if we use her as bait?’

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Well,’ Tim said, ‘From what you’ve said, I think Basira might be the only thing Daisy cares about. We know where she lives – what if I trap her? It’s been a while since I’ve done a good, old-fashioned home invasion.’ The worms beneath his skin began to writhe and hiss as he grinned, and Jon shivered.

‘That might work,’ Sasha said, thoughtfully. ‘When Daisy comes for her, we can try and disable her then.’

‘It might work,’ Jon allowed, ‘just – don’t hurt Basira, Tim. Please. She hasn’t done anything wrong.’

‘She’s harboured a murderer,’ Sasha said.

‘We’re all murderers,’ Martin pointed out.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Melanie said, affronted. ‘I’m just an archival assistant!’

‘Please, Tim,’ Jon said, a little firmer. ‘Scare her, yes, but don’t hurt her.’

Tim gave a great sigh and rolled his eyes.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll try.’

Jon figured that was the best he was going to get.

No one seemed to want to leave Jon’s flat that evening either, though no one said so out loud. There was just a silent agreement that no one was going home. So once again Jon found himself giving up his bed to Melanie and Sasha. He tried to get comfortable on his armchair while Martin and Tim tussled briefly over the sofa. 

Tim, of course, won again, although Martin didn’t put up much of a fight.

That night, in the dark and the quiet, Jon counted the sounds of the snores and realised that he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.

‘Martin?’ he whispered, hazarding a guess.

‘You can’t sleep either?’

The mass of blankets at the foot of the chair sat up and took on a somewhat human form. On the sofa, Tim gurgled and rolled over, mouth open.

Martin shuffled closer with his blankets and Jon slid off the chair so they could whisper and not wake Tim.

‘I don’t like this plan,’ Martin admitted, hugging his knees.

‘I don’t, either,’ Jon admitted, ‘but I can’t think of an alternative.’

Jon had only been peripherally aware of Martin when they’d both worked at the institute. Jon, a researcher, hadn’t really bothered himself about the constantly changing cast of characters who worked in the basement, and Martin hadn’t lasted long as Gertrude’s assistant. He did know, however, that Martin’s disappearance had coincided with Jane Prentiss’ attack on the archives, as it had been one of the first times he had been made aware of the real and dangerous nature of the supernatural working against the institute.

‘The web saved me from Prentiss,’ Martin said, as though he’d read Jon’s mind. ‘She’d trapped me in my flat – apparently that’s a common trick. I probably would have died except for the spiders. After that, well – it was a bit of a no-brainer, really. The Beholding hadn’t lifted a finger to help me, though I’m sure Elias would have known what was happening. But the web – the web offered me safety, and control. And I took it.’

‘The Web saved the archives, too,’ Jon whispered. ‘For a supposedly knowing entity, the Beholding had no idea Filth was in the walls.’

‘It wasn’t saving the _archives_ ,’ Martin said, derisively. ‘It was saving _you_ , Jon. You were there, right? You were a researcher, upstairs.’

‘Yes,’ Jon said, forgetting to whisper in his surprise. ‘You knew me then?’ 

‘I’d… seen you around,’ Martin said, avoiding Jon’s eye even though they were in darkness. ‘I didn’t think you knew who I was, though.’

‘I didn’t know your name,’ he said, a little apologetically. ‘We never really made the effort to learn the assistants’ names, after a while.’

‘That’s fair.’

‘I remember you, though – you always smiled at me when we passed at the front desk. It was nice.’

Martin ducked his head – Jon wondered if he was blushing.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Tim groaned from the sofa, flinging a cushion in their direction. ‘Shut the fuck up and go to _sleep_.’

**

A week into Tim’s siege of Basira’s house, and Elias called Jon into his office. Melanie shot him a worried look as he went, but Jon just nodded slightly. 

‘I thought I told you to stop, Jon,’ Elias said, getting straight into it before Jon had even sat down.

‘Stop what?’

‘Don’t play the wide-eyed ingenue with me, Jon. You’re trying to get to Detective Tonner through her ex-partner. I’m rather disappointed in your lack of faith in myself and the Eye – there are measures in place to protect you – and Miss King, of course.’

‘Maybe,’ Jon said, wondering for an instant just what those measures were, ‘but regardless – we’re not the only ones in danger.’

‘I know that you’ve made some… rather unfortunate alliances…’

‘They’re my friends,’ Jon said, feeling like a petulant teenager.

‘Friends?’ Elias scoffed. ‘Come now, Jon, is your memory really that short? Do you not remember when Filth almost overcame us? Do you not still have the scars from that particular encounter?’

‘And do you remember who warned us? Who gave away Prentiss before she was ready to attack?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Elias smirked. ‘I have enjoyed the Web’s fruitless attempts at courting you, but I think it’s time to stop all this nonsense. You shouldn’t get involved, Jon. Gertrude, at least, knew this.’

Elias picked up his desk phone and dialled a few numbers. Holding up to his ear, he smiled at Jon as the call connected.

‘I think you need to learn your lesson,’ he said, eyes flint and steel. The other end of the phone picked up.

‘Ah, Detective,’ Elias said, down the line. ‘How goes your… little visit?’

‘He’s out cold for now, and restrained,’ said Daisy Tonner’s voice, tinny over the line. ‘And I’ve finally got rid of all these _fucking_ spiders.’

Jon’s blood ran cold.

‘Elias,’ he said.

‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t just kill him,’ Daisy’s voice came again. 

‘Not yet, Detective,’ Elias said. He stared directly at Jon as he placed the phone on his desk. ‘Now, Jon,’ he said, pleasantly, as though they were discussing the weather. ‘Call off filth, or your… _friend_ … meets a rather brutal end at the hands of our dear Detective – who is now, since her resignation from the police force, working for the Institute security.’

Jon clenched his fists and wanted nothing more than to punch in Elias’ smug face, but the thought of Martin bleeding out alone stayed his hand.

‘I’ll do it,’ he said, teeth gritted. ‘Just – stop her. Please.’

Elias chuckled gently.

‘After you, Jon,’ he said.

Tim, thankfully, answered on the second ring.

‘Nothing much happening here,’ he said, sounding gleeful. ‘Although I can hear her whimpering every time I knock. God, I _missed_ this.’

‘You’ve got to stop, Tim,’ Jon said, voice shaking. ‘You need to leave.’

‘What?’ Tim sounded annoyed. ‘But I’ve been here a week and it’s _working_ , Jon. I-‘

‘She’s got Martin,’ Jon choked. ‘Please, Tim.’

There was silence, and Jon was acutely aware of the phone resting on Elias’ desk, of Elias smiling at him.

‘Urgh, _fine_ ,’ Tim said. ‘I’m leaving. But tell the detective-‘

Jon cut off the call.

‘There,’ he said, voice shaking. ‘It’s done. Elias, _please_ …’

Elias smiled almost paternally at him.

‘Thank you, Jon,’ he said. He picked up the phone.

‘You can stand down, Detective. Your partner is safe.’

There was a frustrated noise and a dial tone, and Elias hung the phone back on its cradle.

‘Now, Jon,’ he said, sitting down and folding his hands together. ‘We really do need to talk about all this – _fraternising_.’

Jon just stared at his boss.

‘You – you _hired_ Daisy Tonner?’

‘It seemed the best way to keep you out of her sights,’ Elias said, shrugging delicately. ‘I have rather a lot of blackmail material on her, of course, and I also threatened Miss Hussain – it seems that we think very much alike, you and I. With her working for the archives, I could keep you safe.’

Jon didn’t wait around any longer. Ignoring his phone buzzing in his pocket – no doubt Tim trying to call him back – and ignoring Melanie calling after him, Jon sprinted out of the archives and into the street, where he flagged down a taxi.

He knew where Martin lived – they’d shared a taxi back from the Anthill once when it had been raining and Jon hadn’t wanted to fork out for a taxi by himself. They didn’t live that far apart, as it turned out. He was thankful for that knowledge now.

The entrance door to the block of flats was locked, but Jon frantically buzzed all of them until someone answered.

‘Package for Martin Blackwood?’ he gasped into the speaker.

‘Wrong number, mate,’ the voice crackled out. ‘He’s the one below me. Here, I’ll buzz you in.’

Jon was in the building and up the stairs like a shot. Martin’s door was ajar and he burst inside, with absolutely no plan about what to do in case the Detective was still there.

She was gone, thankfully, but Jon barely noticed it. Martin was on the floor, bound and still unconscious, matted blood on his temple, surrounded by dozens of crushed spider bodies.

Martin was completely unresponsive, so Jon grabbed a kitchen knife to cut through the ropes. Daisy was a professional and she’d tied the knots too tightly to be undone by hand. Jon racked his brain for the rudimentary first aid knowledge from back when he’d taken a short course at university, and he managed to gently move Martin into the recovery position. He put a sofa cushion under Martin’s head. He wondered whether he should try to wipe off some of the blood but decided against it. He wasn’t sure of the damage underneath and didn’t want to make anything worse.

Then he waited.

It was surprisingly boring, waiting for an unconscious person to wake up. He shut Martin’s front door and quickly rattled off texts to Tim and Melanie, explaining where he was. He swept up the spiders. He hesitated for a second before just putting them in the bin. It felt so undignified, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do.

Jon was just thinking about putting the kettle on when Martin groaned. He was by his side in an instant.

Martin had a hand up to his head, blinking his eyes rapidly.

‘Jon?’ he said, vaguely. 

‘I’m here,’ Jon said, redundantly. ‘Careful,’ he said, as Martin tried to sit up. He caught his shoulders and tried to take some of his weight.

‘Jon…. Jon!’ Martin exclaimed, reaching for him and slightly over-egging it in his panic, falling into his lap. ‘Jon, watch out, Daisy – she…’ He blinked. ‘She was here. She – hit me…’

‘It’s ok,’ Jon said, holding him still. ‘She’s gone. It’s safe.’

‘She took me by surprise,’ Martin gasped, trying to struggle upright. Jon wasn’t sure whether that was the best plan for someone with a recent head injury but helped him up anyway.

‘I wasn’t sure whether or not to clean the blood,’ Jon said, feeling guilty, as Martin gently explored his head wound with his fingers.

‘I don’t think it’s deep,’ he said, swaying a little on his feet.

‘Maybe you should sit down.’ Jon grabbed his arm and helped him sink onto his sofa. ‘Do you have any first aid stuff I can use?’

‘Under the sink in the bathroom.’

When he brought it out, Martin tried to start getting out the gauze himself, and Jon put his foot down. 

‘Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,’ he said, taking the gauze out of Martin’s hand. ‘You’ve been unconscious for almost half an hour, for god’s sake.’

‘I can do it myself,’ Martin said, but it was only a token protest. He patiently talked Jon through how to wash the cut with water and clean it from the middle outwards with a piece of sterilised gauze.

Once the blood and hair had been cleared, Jon was relieved to see it was only a small cut, and Martin deemed it not worth a plaster.

‘Best to let it air dry, now it’s clean,’ he said. Then he frowned.

‘Are you ok?’ Jon asked, immediately panicking. ‘Is your head hurting? God, I _knew_ I should have called an ambulance…’

‘No,’ Martin said quickly. ‘No, I just – where did she go?’

‘Daisy? She was gone when I got here,’ Jon said, clearing up the medical equipment. ‘How do you know so much about first aid, anyway?’

Martin ignored his attempt to change the subject.

‘Why did she leave?’ he asked. ‘She had me right where she could do her worst – tied up and helpless. She killed all my spiders.’ Martin choked up for second. ‘Why – why didn’t she kill me?’

Jon sighed.

‘Jon – what did you do?’

‘Elias has hired her.’

‘ _What_?’ 

‘He hired her to stop her from going after me – he has dirt on her to stop her from going back to the police. He had her attack you so we would call Tim off Basira.’

‘Oh, god.’ Martin looked ill. ‘So she did kill Mike?’

‘It seems very likely.’

‘And now she’s under Elias’ control…’

‘I don’t think it’s control, so much as constraints.’ Jon laughed darkly. ‘Elias just wants her to stay away from the Beholding’s avatars. I doubt that he cares much, if at all, about the others.’

There was silence for a while, and to keep himself busy, Jon tidied up the detritus from the first aid kit. Martin watched in a detached way.

‘You called off Tim,’ he said, vaguely.

‘Yes,’ Jon called, from where he was putting the kit back under the sink in the bathroom. He came back into the main living area to find Martin staring at him with an indecipherable expression.

‘For me.’

‘Of course.’ Jon felt a little insulted. ‘She was going to kill you, Martin. I – I’d rather not have you dead, if it’s all the same.’

Martin beamed.

**

It was a rather subdued mood that greeted Jon and Martin when they arrived at Jon’s flat. The others had already arrived – Melanie had apparently ‘borrowed’ his house keys from his desk and let them all in. Sasha stood up immediately as they entered.

‘You alright, Martin?’

‘Fine now, thanks,’ he said, smiling weakly. ‘Jon patched me up.’

‘I’m sure he did,’ Tim said – from _Jon’s_ armchair.

‘Ignore him,’ Sasha rolled her eyes, ‘he’s just grumpy that his spookfest got cut short.’

‘And that we’re right back to having absolutely nothing,’ Tim said. 

‘Not quite,’ Jon said, shooting a pointed look at Tim in his chair as he gestured for Martin to sit down on the sofa. ‘We know that Elias has Daisy under some modicum of control.’

‘So the Eye has the murderer as an attack dog. _Great_. That doesn’t help the rest of us – he’s already sent her after Martin.’

‘It won’t happen again,’ Jon said, turning towards the kitchen.

‘And what makes you say that?’

‘BECAUSE, Tim,’ Jon said, slamming his hand down on the side, ‘I will sort it out.’

His hand throbbed from the impact and the pain radiated up his arm. Blood rushed in his head. He felt _angry_. Angry that Tim didn’t trust him, angry that Elias seemed to always be one step ahead, angry that they were all in this situation to start with. 

Angry that these powers seemingly existed only to cause humans pain and suffering and grief, even those who served them.

Alone in the kitchen, he stared at the kettle as it boiled, mind blank. No one followed him in. He could hear the low buzz of talking from the other room – what sounded like Tim’s voice rising a little above the others, fraught with tension. 

He couldn’t keep putting the others in danger. Elias had made it clear in the past that his ‘mingling’ with the other avatars for anything other than taking statements was… not preferred.

Maybe it was time to keep his distance.

Martin smiled weakly at him when he returned with a tray of steaming mugs.

‘We’ve got a new plan,’ Sasha said brightly, taking a mug. ‘We-‘

‘No.’ Jon put the tray down and looked around at them all. ‘No more plans. It’s too dangerous. It’s time to leave this alone.’

‘So Daisy can come and kill us all in our homes, like she did with Mike?’ Tim snorted. ‘No fear.’

‘I’m going to talk to Elias,’ Jon said. ‘I know what he wants. I can… bargain for your safety.’

‘What with?’ Martin was clutching his tea, white-knuckled, eyes wide. ‘What with, Jon?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jon said, waving a hand dismissively. ‘You can all stay here, finish your tea. Let yourselves out when you’re done – I’ve got spare keys.’

‘Where are you going?’ 

Jon looked at Sasha.

‘I’m going to work,’ he said.

**

Elias didn’t even have the decency to pretend to look surprised when Jon walked into his office later that day.

‘What do you want,’ Jon said tiredly, not bothering to sit down. Elias just looked amused.

‘I do hope Detective Tonner left no… lasting damage,’ he said.

‘What do you want,’ Jon repeated.

‘I think I’ve made that quite clear, Jon. You are the Archivist. You watch, and you record. You do not get involved.’ Elias folded his hands in front of him. ‘You are a good Archivist, Jon, but you do have one rather unfortunate failing.’

There was silence, and Jon realised that Elias was waiting for him to speak.

‘I get involved?’ he hazarded. Elias sighed.

‘You get emotionally involved, Jon. You _care_.’

‘And that’s bad, is it? Being human? _Caring_ about people?’

‘They are hardly _people_ anymore, Jon, much like us. And yes, that is bad. It is not your job to be human. It is your job to work for the Eye.’

‘Fine.’ Jon felt heavy, fatigue weighing on him and dragging him down. He rubbed his eyes. ‘So what do you want?’

‘Don’t fraternise with the other avatars,’ Elias said, crisply. ‘No going to the Anthill. Detach yourself. Become the Archivist, as you are meant to. You are the only one holding you back.’

‘Become an unthinking, unfeeling robot, you mean?’

‘If that is what is necessary, yes.’

‘And you won’t send Daisy after the others? You’ll leave them alone?’

‘Of course.’ Elias steepled his fingers. ‘Unless they pose a direct threat to either the Institute or yourself.’

‘Ok.’ Jon took a deep breath. ‘Ok. I’ll do it.’

‘Good.’ Elias turned back to his paperwork.

Jon left.

**

Jon started his isolation by deleting everyone’s numbers from his phone and ignoring the texts and calls. Despite the silent treatment, Melanie popped into his office later that week and asked if he was going to the Anthill on Friday. 

‘I’m going to be working late,’ Jon said, not looking up from his computer. ‘Go without me.’

She didn’t stop asking for a month following, while Jon avoided everyone and everything. He spent so much time in the office he was wondering whether to just cancel his rent agreement and move in permanently. He didn’t talk to Melanie except for short, specific work requests, and ignored her attempts to talk to him.

Then, after six weeks of successful avoidance, Melanie stormed into his office and pulled out his computer’s plug.

‘Why are you avoiding us?’

‘Melanie, I don’t-‘

‘For fuck’s sake, Jon, what’s wrong with you? Why are you avoiding us? Martin’s practically inconsolable – you could at least have the decency to-‘

‘Do you think I _want_ this?’ Jon shouted over Melanie’s rant. She paused, mouth open.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked finally, deflating a little.

Jon ran his hands through his hair.

‘I told you – I worked it out with Elias. They’re all safe. The Anthill is safe. Daisy won’t kill anyone in their beds.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘And you can tell Tim that, since I imagine he thinks I’ve… defected.’

‘He did say that you’d gone over to the ‘dark side’ a couple of times,’ Melanie admitted. ‘So what – you bargained yourself?’

‘I promised I wouldn’t… _fraternise_.’

‘Oh.’ Melanie blinked at him. ‘Rough.’

‘It has been… surprisingly difficult.’ It felt odd admitting it. He hadn’t really even admitted it to himself, how much he missed their company. His flat felt too quiet and empty, which was one of the reasons why he spent so much time at work.

‘Well. We all miss you,’ Melanie said, looking a little sheepish. ‘Even Tim, although he doesn’t say it.’

Jon felt a little better.

‘Isn’t there any way we can see you? I thought you said your flat was an Eye-free zone – the Anthill too.’

‘But the travelling between is not,’ Jon pointed out. ‘And I don’t want to put anyone in danger.’ He’d spent nights lying awake thinking of possibilities, of loopholes. But it had all come down to the same problem. However airtight he made his plans, one slip-up and someone could die. He wasn’t going to get one of his friends killed just because he was feeling a bit lonely. It had already been too close as it was, with Martin.

‘I’ve thought about it nothing else for the past month,’ Jon said. ‘But – thank you, all the same.’

It made sense, that Elias wanted him isolated. He was easier to control, then. Free of outside influence. Fully committed to the Beholding.

He just wished that was true.

‘I’m sorry,’ Melanie said, quietly. ‘For shouting. And for… everything.’

Jon shrugged. He’d made his decision long ago, when he’d taken the research position at the Institute. Perhaps earlier. He’d just have to live with it.

**

Two weeks later, and he was sitting alone in his flat late on a Friday evening, glass of whiskey in front of him and the telly turned to some crappy reality show. The week before he had even considered phoning up some old university friends. Georgie was out of the question – she’d been marked by the End, and though it had little consequence on her life, he didn’t want to risk Elias counting that as fraternisation with other avatars and asking Daisy to pay her a visit. But he also didn’t put it past Elias to take issue with his being friends with normal humans, either, so he couldn’t risk it. Not that he expected any of them would have replied to his messages. He had practically dropped off the face of the earth once he’d started to work at the Institute, and most of them hadn’t bothered trying to keep in contact.

He’d already drained his glass once, and was just deciding whether or not to get a refill and pickle himself further in his misery, when a door banged open behind him.

Jon leapt to his feet, heart racing and chest pounding, expecting to see Daisy bursting in with a gun and a violent smile. Instead, he saw…

‘ _Sasha_?’

‘It’s good to see you, Jon,’ she grinned, as she stepped out of a door that Jon could have sworn had not been in his flat before. Behind her, Tim, Melanie, and Martin tumbled out too. Panic started up in his throat – they couldn’t be here. It wasn’t _safe_.

‘What… how?’ he stammered, heart still ricocheting around his ribs. 

A creepy, echoing laugh from behind the door answered his question. Sasha just shrugged.

‘Michael owed me a favour,’ she said. ‘After I wiped his tab. And the Beholding can’t track us through the Spiral’s corridors. So,’ she said, spreading out her hands, ‘here we are!’

‘And we brought booze!’ Tim held two clinking plastic bags over his head, waving them around exuberantly.

A very drunken few hours and several flailing, many-limbed group hugs later, Jon found himself slumped against his sofa, clutching an empty bottle, and feeling generally at peace with the world. The TV was still on, well into shitty night-time telly, though he wasn’t really watching it. He could vaguely hear someone clattering around in his kitchen. Tim was, of course, making himself comfortable on Jon’s armchair. When he craned his neck around, he saw that his bedroom door was shut.

‘Three guesses as to what’s going on in there,’ Tim slurred, smirking. Jon was too drunk to blush. He did make a mental note for future sober Jon to remember to wash his sheets the next morning.

When Martin emerged from the kitchen with three glasses of water, Tim was already snoring. Jon was still on the floor, back against the sofa, watching the TV with vague interest.

‘What’s this?’ Martin asked, clambering down to sit next to him, peering myopically at the TV. He handed him a glass, which Jon took gratefully. He could already feel hangover cottonmouth coming on, and he hadn’t even slept yet.

‘’m not sure,’ he admitted, between sips. ‘But there’s a lot of yelling and running about.’

‘Hmm.’

They watched it in comfortable silence for a while. Jon felt comfortably drunk – he felt like he could truly relax, in a way he hadn’t for weeks.

‘I missed you all a lot,’ he said out loud, surprising himself. ‘It was… hard… to stay away.’

‘Melanie said you did it to keep us safe,’ Martin said. ‘I knew you wouldn’t just abandon us. I told Tim that you’d have a good reason.’

‘I had the best reason.’ Jon reached up a hand and gently moved aside some cobweb and Martin’s messy hair to place his fingers on the place where Daisy had hit him. It was barely even visible now. 

Martin was looking at him now, something undecipherable in his eyes, much closer than Jon had realised. He still had a hand in Martin’s hair. He wondered whether it was Martin or the Web who wanted him. He wondered whether they were really two separate things. 

Then he decided he didn’t care and kissed him anyway.

It was soft, and sweet, and slow, and they both tasted like the warmth of whiskey and the beginning sourness of a hangover. Martin clutched the crooks of Jon’s arms with his hands desperately, and when they pulled apart, he was shaking. 

‘Do you think things will ever go back to the way they were?’ Martin whispered, so close that Jon could feel his breath against his mouth, feel his lips move against his skin.

Jon desperately wanted to lie. He wanted to say everything would work out. He wanted to hide Martin away somewhere he would be safe.

But it was too late for that, years too late. For all of them.

‘No,’ he said, truthfully. He tugged Martin close, tucking him under his arm and close to his side. ‘But… change doesn’t always have to be bad.’

Tim changed into an avatar of filth, and it had ruined his life. Martin changed from a servant of the Beholding into an avatar of the Web, and that had saved his. Melanie had been jobless, and purposeless, until she found her purpose at the archives.

Jon – well, he wasn’t sure whether becoming the Archivist had ruined or saved his life.

Martin hummed into his neck, and Jon found he had almost convinced himself that everything would work out in the end.

**

He woke up horizontal, Martin practically curled up on top of him, and Sasha standing over both of them with her phone held out.

‘What-,’ Jon said, before Sasha shushed him, frowning.

‘He’s _sleeping_ ,’ she said, in a pantomime-whisper, pointing down gleefully at Martin. ‘This is so _cute_.’

‘You should have seen them making out,’ Tim said, walking past with tousled hair and a steaming mug. ‘I’m pretty sure one of them was crying.’

‘They _made out_?’

‘You were asleep!’ Jon hissed. ‘And no one was crying.’

‘Nope.’ Tim slurped his coffee. ‘Woke up halfway through. Thought I was going to vomit.’

‘Like you didn’t think it was hot,’ Sasha said, shoving him. The coffee slopped dangerously in the mug; Jon said a silent prayer for his carpet.

‘Well, _duh_ ,’ Tim said. ‘The vomiting wasn’t related. I knew I shouldn’t have mixed my spirits.’

‘I can’t believe you made out!’ Sasha had both hands clasped to her cheeks – she looked transcendently happy.

‘I can’t believe you two had sex – in _Jon’s_ bed – when we were _literally_ in the next room,’ Tim said. ‘That’s much worse than some PG emotional teenage snogging.’

Sasha didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed, although Jon heard Melanie splutter from somewhere behind the sofa.

‘We didn’t do anything!’ she squeaked.

‘Much,’ Sasha smirked. 

A cushion flew into Jon’s field of vision and smacked Sasha squarely on the face. Her resulting shriek made Martin flinch in Jon’s arms.

Martin opened his eyes. Jon watched as he catalogued both his position, Jon’s position, and their audience. He flushed a violent red.

‘Don’t worry,’ Sasha said. ‘We all think it’s cute – well, Mel and I do. Tim wants to be the ham in that sandwich.’

Martin, if possible, blushed brighter. Jon could feel the heat radiating from him.

‘Alright, show’s over,’ he said. ‘Sasha, why don’t you make us some tea?’

‘But I just made coffee-‘ she complained – then she caught the full force of Jon’s gimlet eye and disappeared off to the kitchen.

Jon gently disentangled himself from Martin so that they could both sit up.

‘Umm… morning,’ Martin said, a little shyly. Jon could already see the doubt and panic rising in Martin’s eyes – Jon’s previous partners had always complained that he was cold and hard to read – so he decided to be emotionally demonstrative for one of the first times in his life. He leant forward and pecked Martin on the lips.

‘Morning,’ he said, smiling.

Martin beamed – although his eyes flicked to something behind Jon.

‘Go away, Tim,’ Jon said.

‘Alright, Jesus. Not my fault you’re like a bloody soap opera.’

Tim shuffled off, shedding a few worms as he went.

‘You, er – have some…’ Martin leant forward and ran his fingers through Jon’s hair. Jon shivered and tried not to lean into the contact – apart from the night before (or was it earlier that morning?) he couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so softly and intently. When Martin pulled his fingers away, they were strewn with cobweb.

**

They stayed until around two in the afternoon, since it was a Saturday, and Jon had relaxed almost too much. When Michael’s door appeared, it began to sink in just how dangerous it was to have them in his flat – in his company.

‘Looks like our ride’s here,’ Sasha said. She hugged Jon tightly, before looking him in the eyes, hands on his shoulders. ‘Don’t do that again,’ she ordered. ‘Tell us the next time you want to be a self-sacrificing idiot.’

Jon just nodded. He didn’t want to lie to her face.

‘I don’t know when we can visit next,’ she said. ‘There’s only so many times I can wipe Michael’s tab – he’s not going to willingly be our getaway vehicle all the time.’

‘I understand. Thank you for – for this.’

Melanie hovered awkwardly and didn’t go in for a hug, much to Jon’s relief. He still felt uncomfortably aware that he was technically her boss.

‘See you Monday,’ she said, with a weird little salute, before following Sasha through the door.

‘I’ll leave you lovebirds to it.’ Tim winked lasciviously, making Jon feel like he needed another shower.

Then it was just him and Martin, the door left only slightly ajar to give them the illusion of privacy.

‘We’ll see you soon,’ Martin said, trying for confident and falling somewhere between hopeful and anxious. Jon nodded, and wondered where the lump in his throat had come from.

It was strange how natural it felt to lean in and kiss Martin, when the first time he had ever done so had been in the early hours of that morning. Martin hugged him so tightly it was almost painful.

‘Look after yourself,’ Martin said, into his ear. 

Then the door was closing, and they were gone, with the echo of Michael’s creepy laugh the only sound in Jon’s still flat.

Jon was left with the detritus of messy guests, and a sinking feeling of dread in his sternum. The panic built throughout the afternoon as he cleaned – what if the protections around his flat weren’t as good as he thought? What if they hadn’t been hidden from the Eye? What if Elias knew he had broken the rules?

He didn’t sleep well that night – every time he closed his eyes he saw Mike’s destroyed lounge, saw Martin lying still in a pool of blood. He went into the institute on Sunday, as he had been doing since making the deal with Elias, feeling twitchy and guilty and obvious about it.

Nothing happened that was out of the ordinary. Melanie wasn’t there since it was still the weekend, and Elias so rarely left his office that it was unusual for Jon to see him during the day unless he was called specifically to his office. He waited with baited breath for that call, but it never came.

He went home feeling a little better. It was doubtful that Elias would have found out about his weekend escapades without rubbing it in his face. The sword of Damocles above him had not fallen. The others were safe.

**

Michael turned out to be more than willing to stick it to the Beholding, which apparently surprised Sasha but did not surprise Jon. In fact, it seemed to take a gleeful kind of pleasure in helping the others sneak over to visit Jon without attracting Elias’s attention.

‘I think Michael and Elias have some sort of history,’ Jon said, when Sasha brought it up during another evening at his flat. 

‘Ew,’ said Tim.

‘Not that kind of history.’ Jon rolled his eyes. ‘I mean – the Spiral is one of the few things that distorts the Eye’s vision, right? It makes sense that the avatars don’t get along. And Elias doesn’t like talking about Michael. Calls him a nuisance.’

‘I mean, he’s not wrong,’ Tim said. ‘Although luckily for us he’s a nuisance who wants to be useful. You’ve just landed on Fenchurch – cough up.’

‘Damn.’ Jon looked down at his meagre money pile. 

‘Let me give you a loan,’ Martin cajoled. ‘Just a small one.’

‘Can you have sugar daddies in Monopoly, or is it against the rules?’

Martin, as usual, went bright red; Sasha high-fived Tim.

This week they were going slow on the drinks and were playing a rather heated game of monopoly. Tim had somehow gained control of all the stations and utilities, but Martin was putting on a surprising show of competency and was well on his way to building hotels on both Mayfair and Park lane. He’d already offered to bail Jon out multiple times, but Jon was determined to be self-sufficient.

After the month of misery, isolating himself from the others, Jon was finally starting to settle into his happiness. He later blamed that for helping him to slip into a false sense of security, or maybe he’d just believed too much in the bullshit he’d been handing out to the others.

But it all came crashing down a week after their impromptu game night.

It began with Elias calling Jon into his office – Jon hadn’t initially been overly worried. He’d done more than the usual number of statements recently, leaving him tired and lethargic, but his powers felt stronger than they had ever been. Compelling felt as easy as breathing – he barely even had to push anymore. It flowed from him like water – or more accurately, it flowed _into_ him.

He walked into Elias’ office like an oblivious lamb to the slaughter. On the way, he thought about asking Martin to stay at his flat a little longer the next weekend, after the others had gone. They could talk about the new developments in their relationship. Talk, and maybe… 

Jon walked in with a stupid smile on his face, only to be greeted with a stony-faced Elias.

He dropped the smile instantly.

‘Sit down, Jon.’

Elias’ voice was outwardly pleasant, but his face was blank. Jon sat. There was a strange pressure growing behind his eyes.

‘You’re a good Archivist, Jon,’ Elias said. ‘Almost exemplary, in fact.’

The praise was at odds with his expressionless features. Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not sure whether he was being told off or not. Dread was building hot and sharp in the back of his throat, even as that pressure in his head increased.

‘Elias, what…’

‘Do you think you are a good Archivist, Jon?’

‘Uh… I’ve been getting stronger, recently,’ he offered. ‘Is this some kind of… of performance review?’

‘Do you think Gertrude was a good Archivist, Jon?’

The question threw him for a loop.

‘Yes?’ he hazarded. ‘I mean, she’d been working here for years. She knew… well, practically everything.’

‘Yes, she did.’ Elias got up from his desk and walked to stand in front of it. He was close enough now that Jon had to crane his neck to look up at him. ‘She was notably ahead of you in quite a few respects. Time, experience… emotional detachment.’

Jon’s blood ran cold.

‘I…’

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Elias said dismissively. He leant down, tilting Jon’s head up with a cold hand. ‘She was an excellent Archivist – and yet she was replaced relatively easily. What makes you think you are so special as to be _unique_?’

‘I…’

‘I threatened your friends, but you still disobeyed. Jon, you are not irreplaceable.’

Jon felt almost relieved. If he was to be punished, then so be it. At least the others would be safe a little longer. Then something clicked in his mind, and he sat up straighter.

‘You – what did you do to Gertrude?’ he asked, and he _pushed_. The compulsion rippled out like a shockwave, and Elias flinched bodily backwards. He recovered quickly, and smiled his shark’s grin – too wide, and too many teeth.

‘Oh, I killed Gertrude,’ he said, shrugging in an off-hand fashion, as though he wasn’t breaking apart Jon’s world-view in seconds. ‘I had hoped that allowing her to take you on as a protégé would… encourage her to accept the Eye. But she had already made her choices, as… disappointing as they might have been. She went into hiding so she could blow up the archives, you see. You with it, most likely. As I said, she was head and shoulders above you in most respects, and emotion attachment was one of them. I couldn’t let her destroy us – so I shot her.’

‘You…’ Jon stammered. He didn’t know what to say. His mind reeled.

‘I would have told you without the compulsion,’ Elias said. ‘It hardly matters now, anyway.’

‘She was in hiding?’

‘And I wouldn’t have known if Jane Prentiss hadn’t attacked. Funny how these things happen. The infestation that built up revealed my… blind spot, as it were. Tunnels, under the archives. How clever.’ Elias still had a hand under Jon’s chin; his fingers curled in, fingernails biting into Jon’s cheek. ‘I gave her you to try and tempt her back – and to provide a replacement, should one be necessary.’  
Elias heaved a great sigh, still clutching Jon’s head in his clammy hand. ‘Melanie should suffice for now, although this is a little sooner than I would have hoped for.’

‘You’re going to kill me.’

It wasn’t a question. Jon could see the resolution behind Elias’ cold fish-like eyes.

‘I really didn’t want it to come to this, Jon,’ Elias said, sounding for all the world like a disappointed parent. ‘Going through so many Archivists in such a short time is somewhat sloppy. But you wouldn’t learn. Just as Gertrude wouldn’t.’

Jon felt a rush of pride at being anything like his mentor. Gertrude had been harsh, yes, and apparently willing to blow him up along with the archives, but she had been an excellent teacher. Being told he took after her – it felt like praise, even if it was going to be his end.

‘I could kill you myself,’ Elias said thoughtfully, turning Jon’s head from side to side. His grip was like iron, and Jon could taste blood in his mouth where his cheek had cut against his teeth. ‘But I don’t want to make this personal. And I have an employee for this kind of business, now.’

The pressure in Jon’s temples, behind his eyes, had reached a crescendo. Jon squinted at Elias.

‘Fuck you,’ he said – there was nothing else left to say – and then the pain reached an edge and tipped right over.

A shockwave emanated from Jon, propelling Elias backwards. There was a loud crack when Elias collided with his desk, and Jon watched his boss slump to the floor. The pain now gone, he took a few hurried breaths before jumping out of the chair and sprinting back to his office.

It was too late for him – Daisy would be on his tail, a woman on a mission. No doubt Elias had Basira under threat to keep Daisy on a short leash. No, Jon had accepted his fate in Elias’ office, and even after he’d somehow managed to kill or knock him out, his fate was sealed.

But he could get a message to the others and warn them. Get them to go into hiding. Perhaps, if he had time… he could say goodbye.

There was no sign of Melanie in the assistants’ offices or in the break room, so Jon just cursed and ran towards his office instead. It was thankfully empty, but he beelined towards his phone, still lying on his desk. It was hard to work with his shaking fingers, but he managed to unlock it and swipe to his contacts. His heart was beating hard enough to hurt as he listened to the dial tone. It sank when it went straight to voicemail.

‘Martin, you need to hide – you and the others. Elias is sending Daisy after me, he killed Gertrude. There’s no chance for me, but you can all escape. Use Michael’s doors if you can. I… I’m sorry.’ Jon took a deep breath. It was now or never. 

‘I lo-‘

‘Not that this isn’t touching,’ said a bored voice from the door, ‘but I’d rather just get this over with.’

Jon ended the call and put his phone down.

‘You won’t be able to find them,’ he said, and was pleasantly surprised with how confident he sounded. Daisy just shrugged and raised her gun.

‘They can’t hide forever,’ she said, and then she shot him.

The noise and the pain felt like two separate events to Jon. The loud bang ripped through the air and was followed by a sudden, sucking silence. Then there was a thud that seemed to come from inside him, and the sharp impact on his chest made him stagger back. And then the pain came.

Time distorted, turning into still, distinct moments like polaroid pictures. Jon blinked, and he was standing upright, hand on his chest, blood spilling out and over his fingers. He blinked again, and he was on his knees, his legs still vibrating from the impact with the ground. He blinked again, and he was on the floor, eyes blurry and staring up, hand still on his chest. There was a spider on the ceiling, in the corner of his office.

Another blink. There was a muffled commotion from the direction of the door. The shadowy figure of Daisy was obscured by others. There was an echo of a laugh, high and grating like knives, from somewhere in the archives.

Another blink. There was a hand on his face, two hands. A voice he recognised.

‘Jon, can you hear me? Jon!’

‘Martin?’ Jon mumbled, groaning at the pain in his chest. The figure in front of him resolved into Martin for one second, and then in the next was strangely formed – legs and web and eyes all in a writhing mass. Web that tangled in him, drew him closer. Then it was Martin’s arms drawing him closer, pulling his limp body onto his lap. ‘Martin – Daisy… you need to run…’

The world was fading in and out, sound and light throbbing in Jon’s head. Martin was in danger. Jon had failed. Martin was… in the archives?

It was too much for his brain, already severely depleted of blood and heading towards the soft darkness of oblivion.

Martin was crying, somewhere above him. Jon wanted to tell him not to be sad. But he was too tired.

Then he realised that Martin was telling him something, repeating the same thing over and over again. 

‘The Web, Jon. Let the Web take you. _Please_ , Jon. Let the Web _save you_.’

Jon relaxed, and let the Web draw him in. The world went completely dark.

**

‘Why is this place called the Anthill, anyway?’ Melanie asked, a month later. It was Friday night, and they were at their usual table in the Anthill, as though nothing had happened. Tim shrugged, dislodging some worms. 

‘I’m not sure,’ Martin said, ‘maybe Sasha knows?’

She didn’t, though she did get them more drinks.

‘It’s been called the Anthill since I started working here,’ she said, ‘after I escaped the Stranger.’

‘So you’re not the owner?’ Melanie asked, confused. Sasha just laughed. 

‘God, no. I’m just the main bartender. Jon suggested I hide out here, when I first had to go into hiding. It’s the safest place for someone like me to spend most of my time – because of the truce, and everything.’

‘Jon would know,’ Martin said. ‘He was the first to start coming here out of all of us.’

‘Wait – so who _owns_ this place?’ Melanie said. ‘If it’s not you, Sasha.’

Sasha shrugged. 

‘I don’t ever see anyone except the other employees,’ she said. 

There was a spider on Martin’s shoulder; he looked over to the entrance of the Anthill just before the door swung open.

‘I still think that’s creepy,’ Tim said, shivering. A worm fell out his ear.

Jon walked in and sat in the seat that, as usual, Martin had saved for him.

‘What have I missed?’ he asked, leaning down to peck Martin on the lips in greeting. ‘Sorry I’m late – got caught up at work.’

‘It’s been crazy busy since Elias got back,’ Melanie agreed. ‘He did not take his… exile… very well.’

‘I can personally vouch that Michael’s tunnels are awful.’ Martin shuddered. ‘And he was in there for _weeks_.’

‘Don’t tell me you feel sorry for him,’ Tim scoffed.

‘Well, no,’ Martin admitted, taking Jon’s hand in his and clutching it tightly. ‘But – those tunnels are _awful_.’

‘We were just wondering where the Anthill’s name came from,’ Sasha said brightly. 

Jon laughed – it made his chest twinge, but the pain was bearable. The gunshot wound was healing a lot better than the doctors had told him.

‘Oh, that – it was actually Gertrude who came up with the name,’ he said. ‘She mentioned something one of her… contacts… said once, about the entities, to the bartender at the time – someone of the Lightless Flame, I think – and they passed it on to the owner. It’s something of an in-joke.’

‘And who is the owner?’ 

‘That I don’t know,’ Jon said, frowning. ‘Gertrude knew, I think. But I never asked – not that she would have necessarily told me.’

He still held his late mentor in great esteem, although he felt that he had now surpassed her in power. She had been a brilliant Archivist – cold, distant, the watcher and the knower – but Jon had evolved into a hybrid far beyond anything she ever could have imagined.

The Web and the Eye were natural allies, really – Jon should have seen it sooner. The Web liked to trap and keep close, liked to draw in slowly and surely until there was no escape. The Eye was insatiable for knowledge, and what drew that closer better than the Web’s seductive strings?

The Web had held him close and kept him from the End, although Jon was sure that he had come out of his ‘death’ distinctly less human than he had been previously. The Archivist’s powers still came strongly to him, but he had a whole other arsenal to draw from now. He’d left humanity far behind – his humanity had died from the mortal gunshot wound.

It was turning into a very impressive scar – perhaps the most impressive to date. When the red and purple eventually faded to silver, it would look like a starburst in the centre of his chest, with thin, spidery lines stretching out from the centre.

‘I’ve seen a couple of letters from banks, and stuff,’ Sasha said, still hovering at their table in the pretence of delivering their drinks. A somewhat irritated queue was growing at the bar. ‘They’re all addressed to someone called Mr G. Keay.’

Jon laughed, long and hard.

**

The funeral had been the week previous; Jon was the only one who went. Even Martin refused to go – ‘You were _dying_ in my arms, Jon. I can’t forgive her for that,’ – though he did give Jon a lift there in his little run-around car, as Jon had only just been released from hospital.

It was a very small turn-out – mainly police who’d known her peripherally, their faces sombre and respectful. Daisy hadn’t died in the line of duty, and so there was little ceremony, though her coffin was still draped in the Union Jack, her uniform hat placed on top. One of the pallbearers folded it up solemnly and handed it reverently to Basira.

Basira didn’t cry until after the coffin had been lowered into the ground and three of the pallbearers fired a volley into the air. Only then, when most of the others had taken their leave, did she allow the tears to fall.

Jon said nothing but stood beside her until she was ready to leave.

‘I know she wasn’t… completely human, at the end,’ Basira said, sniffing. ‘So I think this way was kinder. But… I wish I had been there.’

‘My job – my purpose – is to know things,’ Jon said, quietly. ‘And she cared for you, Basira. Everything she did, towards the end, was for you.’

‘I know,’ Basira said. ‘Do you – do you know how it happened?’

Jon shook his head.

‘I wasn’t entirely… present, for events,’ he said, glancing down at his chest, which was already aching from the strain of standing for so long.

Jon hadn’t asked who had killed Daisy, in the end. For once in his life, he hadn’t wanted to know. It had been a closed casket, so there had been nothing to give it away. 

‘Is everything over, now?’ Basira asked, shakily. Tim and his worms had really done a number on her – she looked pale and gaunt, and scanned the ground every so often, as though checking for something. 

‘Yes,’ Jon said firmly. ‘It’s over.’ He would make sure of it, later – he would mark Basira as off limits and make sure her life was as peaceful and free of entities as he could.

‘Good,’ Basira sighed.

Martin picked them both up, later, and they took Basira home.

Jon felt somewhat guilty that Basira was the only one to suffer from the rather dramatic culmination of events. Well, apart from Elias – they couldn’t kill him, as he had loudly proclaimed after seeing his attack-dog dead on the ground. He was the beating heart of the archives. Kill him, and Melanie and Jon died with him.

So Michael, ever willing to be a nuisance, had trapped Elias in his maze – long enough to give him time to cool off a little. Now he was back and in the archives, he and Jon were at something of an impasse. Jon suspected it would always be a little awkward now they had both tried to kill each other.

Jon was pretty sure that he couldn’t be killed – not now he was the avatar of two entities. Or, at least, he would be very difficult to kill. This was not something that Martin found particularly comforting.

‘This just means you’ll be charging into danger even more recklessly,’ he complained the night after Elias emerged back in the archives, wide-eyed and gaunt. 

‘The spiders will help you keep track of me,’ Jon said gently. ‘Like they did before. The Web saved my life again.’

‘It quite likes you,’ Martin said, tracing the lines of Jon’s new scar with soft fingertips. For once, Jon had managed to commandeer his own bedroom before Melanie and Sasha, and they were making the most of it. 

‘Quite likes me?’

‘I can’t imagine why.’

Kissing Martin felt natural, as though it were something Jon had been doing for years. He let himself relax, sinking into the bed with Martin above him, one hand sinking into Martin’s messy hair.

‘Maybe a little more than quite,’ Martin said, against Jon’s lips.

They broke apart at the sound of a loud banging on the bedroom door.

‘For the last time, Tim, you’re not invited,’ Martin shouted.

‘I’m not gonna stop asking,’ Tim shouted back. ‘But that’s not what I wanted.’

‘We’re going to finish watching the Masterchef final,’ Sasha said, opening the door and peering in. Jon didn’t even flinch. ‘You guys want to join?’

Jon looked at Martin, who shrugged.

‘Ok,’ he said, ignoring Jon’s betrayed expression. ‘You shouldn’t be doing anything too active, anyway. The doctor said-‘

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jon sighed, reaching for his dressing gown. ‘Come on then.’

Sandwiched between Tim and Martin on the sofa, Sasha and Melanie curled up on his armchair, Jon ignored the very faint throbbing pain from his chest, and relaxed.


End file.
